


there is a light that never goes out

by inkyreveries



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Billy works at a country club, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Steve belongs to said country club, and Neil Hargrove, ft. all of the kids and also Mom and Dad Harrington, mayhem ensues, summertime and the living is easy, who we hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyreveries/pseuds/inkyreveries
Summary: School's almost out and Steve's ready for a summer spent lounging at Hawkins' Country Club and drinking his way through tedious lunches with his dad about his future. It doesn't exactly turn out that way.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> did ya miss me?

Steve tugs at the collar of his button-down, grumbling that his mother made him wear pink— _it’s_ salmon, _Steven, and it looks lovely with your new loafers_ —and stress-smoking a cigarette behind the wheel of his car.

Driving separately to these events is usually his only way of escaping; the last time he drove with his parents, he was at the party until _one in the morning_.

He’s not entirely sure what they’re celebrating, some big business deal his dad had closed, but given that _you’ll be taking over the company someday, son,_ he’s always forced to make an appearance. 

It’s at the Hawkins Country Club, a ridiculously overpriced attempt at making Hawkins seem more like a posh Chicago suburb and less like, well, Hawkins. Steve’s parents are members, but he only ever goes when his mom drags him to play tennis, or _worse_ , his dad takes him to talk about his “future” over beers and BLTs.

As he pulls up the long gravel driveway, he sees the pool steaming in the chill of the early May evening and thinks maybe he’ll bring the kids here over the summer. Finally get some use out of that stupid membership. Beats having them in _his_ pool. Steve doesn’t really let anyone in his pool anymore, not after—well.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he mutters, "not tonight".

Before he gives the keys to the attendant, he fixes his tie in the mirror of his BMW, shrugs on his grey suit jacket and pops in a breath mint (his mother will give him _hell_ if she smells cigarette smoke on him).

“Wish me luck,” he grimaces to the attendant, some scrawny kid he thinks is a freshman at Hawkins High.

It’s just as bad as he expects it to be. Dinner is, like, _five_ courses, and the menu is already planned out, and they serve _scallops_ , which Steve _hates_ but eats anyways because the last four courses were, like, tiny, and he’s gotta eat _somewhere_. He sits in between his parents, listening to his dad talk about things like “market inflation” and “the DOW,” and his mom talk about going to Paris next week which, like, no one told Steve about, and tries not to make a face at how slimy the scallops are.

He’s in a sour mood when they push back from the table and head to another room for dancing and Steve’s father’s inevitable toast, and, Steve’s personal favorite part of the evening: the open bar.

His mom is holding a flute of champagne from dinner, talking animatedly to some woman Steve’s met before—Sharon? Sheryl? Steve is nodding along to the conversation, pretending he’s super fucking interested in whether or not Dave from HR is sleeping with his secretary, and actually just staring at his mom’s glass, waiting for her to empty it so he can get her a refill and himself a rum and coke.

 _Finally,_ it’s empty, and he heads to the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve Mrs. Adams her chardonnay with fucking _ice cubes_ in it, like _god damn_ why is he even here, and tapping his fingers idly against the wood surface.

When the bartender finally sends Mrs. Adams off with her fucking _grape juice_ and turns to Steve, his stomach drops to his shoes.

The bartender is grinning at him, sharp and mean. Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t recognize Billy Hargrove’s unmistakable ratty mullet, but pulled up in a bun, it looks…different. Almost clean.

Almost.

“Harrington! Fancy meeting you here,” Billy says, and he looks _delighted,_ blue eyes twinkling as he takes in Steve’s clothes, “and dressed to _impress_. Never seen King Steve wear pink before.”  
  
“It’s salmon,” Steve mutters, cheeks aflame because these nights as his dad’s puppet are already _humiliating_ and now Billy Hargrove’s going to be there for all of it.

Billy looks incredulous. “ _What?_ ” 

“Nevermind. Just give me a glass of champagne and a rum and coke.”

Billy’s smile widens and he arches a brow, “either of those for you? This crowd looks fuckin’ bleak.”

Steve blinks at him then feels his lips tug into a small smile, “the rum and coke. If I have to hear my mother ask me if my dad’s secretary is skinnier than her one more time, I’d better be fucking wasted.”

Billy snorts, and it’s a little _weird_ because, like, since he almost _killed_ Steve in November they haven’t really talked _at all_ , save a few necessary exchanges on the basketball court, but he’s not trying to kill him _now_ , so. He looks at him for a few seconds, wearing an expression Steve doesn’t recognize, and then abruptly puts two shot glasses next to the champagne flute and the glass for Steve’s rum and coke.

Steve watches him pour the champagne and then the rum, making Steve’s drink and then filling the shot glasses. He pours the coke and sticks a little black straw in, placing both drinks on napkins and then looking expectantly at Steve.

“Well? You gonna make me take both of these?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Should you be drinking on the job?”

He is immediately presented with the most _scathing_ look he has ever seen. “ _Harrington_. Why do you think I _took_ this job?” Billy reconsiders, “well, that and Hawkins’ finest MILFs.”

Steve, despite himself, laughs. “You’re nasty, Hargrove.”

Billy just picks up one of the shot glasses and smirks. “And?”

Shaking his head, Steve grabs the other. 

“Bottoms up,” Billy winks, and they tap the glasses together before knocking them back.

The rum burns Steve’s throat going down, but, compared to how smoothly Billy swallows his, he tries not to show it.

“So,” he says, voice a little hoarse from the liquor, “I didn’t know you worked here. I didn’t even know you _worked_.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Harrington,” Billy says, and his eyes _burn_. Steve can’t look away, finds himself all of a sudden so desperate to know more.

Damn. He’s already buzzed. Should have eaten more scallops.

“Besides,” Billy continues, “we don’t all have rich daddies. Hawkins bitches aren’t exactly cheap, are they?”

“Do you always have to be such a jackass?” Steve thinks there’s not as much bite to that question as there would have been even an hour ago.

Billy twists his face into an exaggerated pensive look, “Hmm, let me see. Yes.”

Before Steve can retort, someone else is at the bar and Billy’s whole demeanor shifts.

“What can I get for you tonight, ma’am?” He asks, the image of politeness and charm. Steve’s jaw hangs open for a minute, trying to reconcile _that_ Billy Hargrove with the one from thirty seconds ago, but then he hears his mom calling his name and grabs their drinks.

“Thanks for the drinks, Hargrove.”

Billy looks up from the martini he’s making for a moment and locks eyes with Steve. “Anytime.” It sounds like a promise.

It takes thirty minutes before Steve can sneak away from his mom’s gossip circle to snag another drink. She wants a vodka tonic this time.

“Dude,” he says in lieu of a greeting, leaning heavily against the bar. “How much fuckin’ rum did you put in this drink?”

Billy just laughs. “Want another?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah.”

Steve goes to give his mom her vodka tonic, kisses her on the cheek, and then heads straight back to the bar for the rest of the night. When other partygoers come up for drinks, Steve entertains himself by watching Billy make them, mesmerized by how deftly he mixes and shakes and pours. 

Steve’s father’s toast is predictable, full of self-congratulatory statements and polite applause. When his dad mentions him, everyone turns to look.

“And hopefully my son, Steven, will come join us as the newest member of our team this fall, after he graduates.”

Steve, face burning, raises his glass and gives a tight smile and feels Billy staring at him.

Once his dad moves on, Steve turns back around to find Billy still staring at him. He feels laid bare, feels _seen_ in a way he doesn’t know how to handle so he slaps his hand down on the table and says, “how about another shot?”

And Billy grins.

By the time people start to leave, it is well after midnight, and Steve is well and truly drunk. So is his mother, judging by the way she wobbles over to him and presses a messy kiss to his cheek.

“Steven, darling, are you coming?”

Steve shoots a look at Billy, who has all of sudden become very busy cleaning glasses.  

“Um, no—no, not yet. I’ll be back later.”

“Okay, well, not too late.” 

Steve promises and she kisses him again and then spots a couple leaving and hurries after them to say goodbye. 

He jumps when he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and turns to see his father _beaming_ at him—which is not a look Mr. Harrington often wears.

“I’m proud of you, son. Usually you leave these events early but you stayed and you were interested and it shows.” 

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it again. “Oh…yeah.”

“I see a promising future ahead of you here,” his dad says, and nods approvingly before moving to walk away. “Don’t stay out too late.” 

“Yes sir,” Steve says dumbly. Once his parents are out of sight, he starts laughing.

“Did I miss the joke?” Billy asks, nodding his thanks as a man slides a $5 bill across the bar on his way out.

“Did you _hear_ that? God, I haven’t had a conversation that positive with my dad since I was, I don’t know, fourteen? He thinks I’m _interested_ just because I stayed for his whole stupid party just to get _wasted_.” Steve’s laughter starts to sound a bit hysterical, even to his own ears, but he can’t seem to stop. “This is just my ‘ _promising future_ ’ isn’t it? I’m going to be getting drinks for my mother until I find my own boring wife to get drinks for, kissing my dad’s ass and wearing fucking _salmon shirts_ —”

“Harrington,” Billy reaches out and grabs Steve’s wrist. He hadn’t realized he was shaking. Steve looks down at Billy’s hand on his wrist, looks back up to see Billy studying him with the same kind of intensity he had earlier. He pulls his wrist out of Billy’s grip.

“Shit. Sorry.” He offers awkwardly, embarrassment burning in his chest. “I should head—” 

“—I’m off in twenty minutes,” Billy says, cutting him off, “if you wanna wait. I’ve got some weed. You look like you could use it.”

“Why?” Steve asks without thinking, alcohol melting away his inhibitions. “I mean, we’re not friends.”

“No, we’re not.” Billy agrees quietly. “But maybe we could be.”

Steve squints his eyes at him, trying to gauge if Billy’s being serious.  

“Okay,” he says finally. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve sits in silence while Billy cleans up the bar and thinks about how it felt, Billy’s hand scorching around his wrist, steadying him in a way he didn’t think _Billy Hargrove_ could.

The jangling of keys pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Billy dangling his car keys from his pointer finger. “I’ll drive.” 

“What about my car?” Steve protests.

“Dude, you’re like _blitzed_ , you can’t drive right now.” Billy shrugs. “I can drive you to pick it up tomorrow.” 

And, well, Steve can’t really argue with that.

“Ready, pretty boy?” Billy’s standing in the doorway, backlit by the street lamps and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

 _He looks like an angel,_ Steve thinks, and then, _fuck, I’m really drunk._

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, let’s go.”

And he follows Billy out into the night.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We’re not,_ Billy had said, _but maybe we could be_. Steve wonders if that still stands, wonders if Billy still thinks they could be, now in the light of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the extended hiatus!! shit got real and it was hard to find time to right but i am back and the trailer for season three is my lifeblood and the sustaining force behind this fic.

“This is good shit,” Steve groans on an exhale, blowing smoke at the sky. Billy chuckles in response. “Pretty boy, this is nothing. You want good shit? Come to Cali.” 

“I’ve always wanted to go to California,” Steve muses, settling back on his elbows. They’re perched on the hood of his car, passing a joint back and forth. “Do you miss it?”

Billy waits a minute, takes a hit, before he says, “yeah. It’s—yeah.” His voice sounds strange, far away. Steve suddenly, inexplicably and desperately, wants to bring him back.

“Are you staying in Hawkins for the summer?”

Billy nods, “I’m lifeguarding at the pool.” He grins a little mischievously, then, “Karen Wheeler is just dying to see me in a speedo.” And he waggles his tongue.

Steve busts out laughing.

“Dude, _ew_. Give me that.” He snatches the joint out of Billy’s hand.

They sit like that for a while, in companionable silence. It’s not weird, but it should be, the two of them smoking at the quarry like Billy didn’t almost kill him, like they’re friends, like it’s _easy_ , and—                                                           

It is. 

Steve doesn’t feel so drunk anymore, just _happy_ , loose-limbed, and he says that to Billy because he can, because for whatever reason they’re kind of friends now. He marvels at that, how they could go from enemies to nothing to becoming friends in one night. He tells Billy that, too. 

Billy does something weird with his face when Steve says that, sits up from his reclined position and seems to curl in on himself, shoulders hunched as he faces away from Steve. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, and it sounds like pulling teeth. Steve’s smoke-addled brain catches up with him then, and he scrambles to sit up too.

“What?”

Billy won’t look at him. “That night. When I—” he doesn’t finish his sentence for a long time. Steve waits. 

“I’m just sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Billy looks at him then, blue eyes searching Steve’s, like he’s asking a question.

Steve realizes that he is, and so he answers it.

“It’s okay, man.” And he means it, but Billy still looks tense so he adds, “you’re forgiven as long as you don’t bone my ex’s _mom_.”

When Billy laughs, easy and warm, tension seeping out of his body like a sponge wrung dry, all Steve can think is that he wants to make him laugh like that again. 

***

Steve pulls up to the school parking lot Monday morning, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he glances around. He’s not looking for Billy’s Camaro but like, he’s not _not_ looking for Billy’s Camaro. He spent Sunday replaying that night in his head. _We’re not_ , Billy had said, _but maybe we could be_. Steve wonders if that still stands, wonders if Billy still thinks they could be, now in the light of day. 

Steve doesn’t know why, but he thinks it would hurt if Billy didn’t. 

After 5 minutes, when still he doesn’t see the Camaro, he gives up and heads to class.

He’s sitting at lunch with Nancy and Jonathan complaining about his meatloaf—it’s like _way too soggy_ to be called a “loaf” of anything, and also _why_ did someone think a loaf of meat was a good idea?—when he hears, “Harrington!”

He turns around to see Billy draping an arm over a bemused Tommy. Steve knows he’s dramatic, but it feels like the cafeteria goes still around them, like they’re surrounded by wide eyes and whispers about their fight in November, about whether or not Billy’s here for a rematch.

For a terrible, uncertain moment, Steve wonders if they’re right. And then—

“Come have a smoke.” Billy’s grinning and it’s nothing like the way he used to grin at Steve, feral and dangerous and shark-like. It’s just. A grin. And Steve can’t recognize it at first, that feeling blossoming in his chest, but once he’s smoking outside the gym with Billy and Tommy after waving Nancy and Jonathan off, turning his back on their concern and following Billy instead, he knows what it is.

Relief.

Not that Billy didn’t try to beat the shit out of him, but that he remembered. That Billy still thought they _could be_ , and now they are. 

***

After that, things kind of fall into place. Steve starts hanging out with Billy and Tommy and Carol, starts eating lunch with them, starts smoking with them during lunch, starts playing _with_ them at basketball practice, getting claps on the back when he scores, starts getting high with them after practice. Tommy and Carol don’t bring up what happened with Nancy, their near-altercation in the parking lot when he’d walked away. If anything, Steve is surprised at how excited they seem to have him back in their little crew, almost like they missed him. Tommy’s a dumbass and Carol’s not much better, but (and Steve had forgotten this when he left them behind for things that mattered, things that meant the end of the world, things—well, one thing in particular—that had meant _love_ and redemption and warmth, once) they had been his best friends. Since diapers.

It’s funny, really, how easily he slips into his old routine with Tommy and Carol, sliding Tommy his pudding cups at lunch, stealing pieces of gum out of Carol’s purse while she pretends to be annoyed, buying liquor from Hannigan’s—Mr. Hannigan always pretends not to know they’re still underage—and taking turns driving to parties. It almost feels like he’s King Steve again, that character he had grown to loathe, except. It’s not really the same, because Billy’s there, chomping on Steve’s half-eaten PB&J, daring him to beat his keg record and taunting him when he can’t. Billy doesn’t make Steve feel like the old King Steve, he just lets him be.

So it’s almost the same as before, but it’s not really. And Steve—Steve is happy.

Of course, the rest of his friends, and by friends he means his ex-girlfriend, her new boyfriend, and a gaggle of middle schoolers, are extremely and vocally _not_.

Nancy corners him at his locker one morning, Jonathan standing behind her looking a little apprehensive.

“Steve,” she begins gently, and he resists the almost immediate urge to roll his eyes because he knows what comes next, “we’re worried about you.”

Steve is almost one hundred percent positive Jonathan would rather be literally _anywhere_ but participating in this conversation, given how much he looks like he wants the tiled floor to swallow him whole. 

He exhales through his nose. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve been spending a lot of time with Billy Hargrove.” She says Billy’s name with a delicate wrinkle of her nose, like it’s unsavory. For some reason, it makes Steve angry.

“He’s my friend.” He says flatly.

“But Steve, he almost _killed_ you, remember? He’s got issues, Jenny says he—”

“I don’t care what Jenny says.” It’s a little more forceful than Steve had intended, and clearly Nancy wasn’t expecting it either, because her eyes widen.

Steve feels bad then, feels his anger seep out of him, knows he’s lucky to be cared about like this. “I’m sorry. It’s just, he’s different, now. And I forgive him, and I hope you do too. He’s not as bad as you think he is.” 

Nancy opens her mouth to protest but Steve continues, “there was a time when you thought I was bad, too, Nance. Maybe in a different way, but still. Just, give him a chance. Please? For me?”

He watches her face soften as he talks. Then, she nods, and says, “okay. But if he ever hurts you again, tell him I have a gun.” The blaze in her eyes lets him know she is being dead serious.

Steve laughs and Steve loves her, but not in the way he did before. Placated, Nancy and Jonathan leave him at his locker after making plans for that weekend, holding hands as they disappear down the hall. 

Steve thinks about a time when it would have hurt to watch them leave. It doesn’t, not anymore. He closes his locker and goes to class.  

Dustin is a lot less reasonable.

He’s screaming at him outside of the arcade, ignoring the strange looks he receives as people walk past them, waving his hands around like a raving lunatic. Steve is a combination of irritated and amused, Ray Bans perched low on his nose.

“Steve, are you _listening_ to me?! Billy Hargrove is an _actual crazy person!_ He is going to kill you and chop you up and feed you to the tiger he probably keeps in his bedroom!” Steve snorts at that last one. 

He’s not really paying attention to the scenarios Dustin is giving him; he’d gotten the gist after the first 30 seconds, but he’s honestly pretty entertained watching Dustin tire himself out. 

The rant ends abruptly when Max appears, face almost as red as her hair and mouth set in a hard line.

“Hey, shitstain,” she interrupts, poking Dustin in the shoulder. “That’s my _brother_. He doesn’t own a tiger and he’s not going to hurt Steve or any of you so leave him alone.”

Dustin, who is painfully and obviously still head-over-heels for Max, stops talking immediately. He sighs and throws his hands in the air like some sort of disgruntled father-of-three and goes inside, muttering something about how there are no more syringes so, “good luck.” 

Max starts to follow but hesitates, stops, turns around.

“Billy, he’s—it’s complicated, okay?” Steve has no idea what she means, but is startled to see her eyes fill with tears. “He’s my _brother_ ,” she says again. And then, so quietly Steve isn’t sure she’s still talking to him, “I forgive him, too.”

And so, with the dubious blessing of the people who matter the most to him, Steve and Billy stay friends.

**Author's Note:**

> inkyreveries.tumblr.com! come yell about these stupid boys with me <3


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